


a firework going off before its time

by kickedshins



Category: Archive 81 (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Rituals, Trust, takes place between season 3 and left of the dial, the one that makes static man nick's vassal, this is me writing the binding ritual they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickedshins/pseuds/kickedshins
Summary: “Why are you doing this?” is Nicholas’s last question, jarring in its simplicity.Despite his reservations about baring his soul, Static Man’s answer comes easy. He says, “Because I like you. I like working with you. I think I can help you, and I think you can help me. It’s a smart choice, logically speaking, but more than that, it’s something that I want to do. I haven’t had the agency to do things I wanted to do—like, wanted to do just for me, just for myself, not because anyone fucking told me to do it—in… way too long. I’m doing this because– shit, Nicholas, I want to. I want to be bound to you. And I think that’s a damn good reason.”orStatic Man and Nicholas perform a ritual.
Relationships: Static Man/Nicholas Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	a firework going off before its time

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i have to clarify about the ship tag that this is not an est relationship fic nor is it them getting together it's more like. they both have very strong feelings for each other and simply refuse to acknowledge those feelings. so yay repression!
> 
> if you wanna know the books static man references, see the end notes, but be warned that when you're given the context for what he's referencing, it might spoil those books, so like if you don't wanna risk that then skip over the notes :p
> 
> enjoy reading <3

“The shit we need for this always feels so arbitrary,” Static Man complains. “Like, the fuck does a fistful of virgin rabbit’s fur have to do with soul-bonding, or whatever CW bullshit we’re about to pull right now? How’d you even know that the rabbit was a virgin?”

“That’s— Static Man, that’s not what _virgin_ means in this context,” Nicholas says, exasperated. 

“Okay, cool, ‘cuz we get into some questionable animal ethics if it is. So then what is it?”

“A rabbit whose hair hasn’t been used in any other ritual,” Nicholas explains. He’s looking over his notebook, double-checking that he’s copied out each step of the ritual properly. It shouldn’t take that long—the ritual itself should only take fifteen or so minutes, he predicts. And by the end of it, Static Man will be bound to him.

Which, honestly, Static Man doesn’t really know what that entails. Sure, he knows that Nicholas is obligated to care for and protect him, and he’s is obligated to obey Nicholas—if Nicholas pulls on the bond that’s connecting them—but even those are vague parameters. Will Static Man feel compelled to do anything Nicholas asks? He’s not so sure if he wants that.

Static Man has faith that Nicholas knows what’s going on, though, because Nicholas doesn’t deal in uncertainties. Which is funny, considering his current trade. There’s nothing less certain than the trickery of magic.

“And how do you know the rabbit’s hair _hasn’t_ been used before?” Static Man is asking. “Like, do you just roll up to Petco and pull some fur outta the closest bunny? Do you gotta find one in the wild, or some shit? Is there even a wild to find one in in New York City?”

“It just says virgin,” Nicholas says. “So, yes, actually, I was planning on going to a pet shop and collecting some fur from petting one.”

“Jesus,” Static Man laughs. “You manage to make that sound so sinister.” Adopting Nicholas’s voice, he puts his not-head on Nicholas’s shoulder and says, “Hi, I’m Nicholas Waters, and I pet small animals threateningly, like some campy-ass gay-coded two-bit drama villain,” right into Nicholas’s ear.

“Could you _please_ not.”

“Sorry,” Static Man says unapologetically, voice his own again. “So, okay, we got the unfucked rabbit—”

“Virgin rabbit’s fur, what the hell, Arthur—”

“—not my name, and we got the, uh, your blood, right? ‘Cuz naturally we need that. I mean, okay, that one makes sense, ‘cuz we’re binding our souls together or whatever the fuck, so, like, I get needing your blood. And we got a tooth of mine which, again, checks out. And that’s honestly more logical than most of these spell components usually get, so props to you for this one, Nick.”

“Not my name,” Nicholas sighs. “But warranted considering my misstep. Why are you listing off spell parts?”

“What, as if you don’t do that all the time?” Static Man counters.

“That’s— no, that’s part of the— I mean, it’s not technically in the instructions, but it feels right to review everything we have and list it out before we begin our rituals,” Nicholas explains. “It’s different.”

“We? Our? You know once we soulbind we’re not gonna be, like, in one body. Oh shit, what if we’re in the same body?”

“We’re not going to be in the same body,” Nicholas reassures him. “Does the idea of being within me really bother you that much?”

“Ahahah,” Static Man coughs. “So, now that we got the rabbit and his v-card, what else do we need?”

“You’re not going to let this bit die, are you,” Nicholas says dryly.

“I might,” Static Man says. “But you know me. I’m the fuckin’ master of beating the ever-loving shit outta a very dead horse. Or rabbit, or whatever. So letting it die doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

“I truly cannot wait to have a metaphysical connection to your very essence.”

Static Man’s spent enough time around Nicholas to read his movements relatively well, so he holds out a not-arm for Nicholas to grasp just before Nicholas starts to reach for his cane.

“Oh,” Nicholas says, sounding a bit surprised. “Thank you.” He wraps his fingers around Static Man’s not-forearm and Static Man hauls him out of the armchair in which he’s sitting.

“D’ya think being connected will make us, like, meld together? Not body-wise,” Static Man is quick to clarify. “No offense, dude, but I don’t want your body.”

“I’ve been rejected in crueler ways,” Nicholas says. He takes his cane and unclasps his hand from around Static Man’s not-arm and stands up straight.

Sometimes Static Man forgets that Nicholas used to, like, date. He doesn’t really do it much anymore. Not that Static Man’s ever been around while Nicholas _has_ been tearing up the town, or breaking men’s hearts, or whatever it is he’s sure a lanky academic with a bad leg might get up to, but still. Nicholas seems to have a neverending fountain of stories about ex-boyfriends, and Static Man isn’t sure if they’re lore about a handful of long-term relationships, or a much larger array of flings.

Not that it matters, of course. But still. Static Man wonders.

“Besides,” Nicholas says, pulling Static Man from his weird train of thought, “I wouldn’t want _your_ body, either.”

“Oof,” Static Man says. He puts a hand to his not-chest and staggers backward as if he’s been shot. “You wound me, bro.”

“You’re nearly thirty, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Nothing,” Nicholas says. His lips quirk up into half a smile, and dammit if that doesn’t warm Static Man’s not-heart more than he’d like it to. “Just double-checking that you hadn’t secretly stopped aging at twenty, or whatever age the peak of fratboy might be.”

“You _wound_ me, _bro_ .” 

“I’m sure I do.” Nicholas starts to walk around the study. He paces a lot, and even though Static Man’s a constantly-in-motion being, Nicholas’s pacing stresses him out a bit, because usually Nicholas paces when he’s thinking hard, and usually when Nicholas is thinking hard he’s about ten steps ahead of Static Man, and it might be childish, but Static Man doesn’t like to feel left out or left behind. 

“So, okay, no bodymeshing. Minds, though? Like, are you gonna develop a sense of humor once we tie our hearts together, or whatever the fuck?”

“Hearts,” Nicholas says, wrinkling his nose distastefully. “I can assure you we will have no dealings with hearts. Also, my sense of humor is fantastic as is, thank you very much.”

Static Man lets out a peal of laughter. “Whoever told you that is either stupid or a fuckin’ liar. No offense.”

“Much taken. You know that saying _no offense_ before you say something offensive doesn’t make it smart any less, right?”

“No, I just mean you have, like, a lot of merits,” Static Man says quickly. “Like, you’re smart as hell, and you’re– shit, you’re _clever_ , which is a helluva lot different than smart, and resourceful, and determined as anything. We just have very different senses of humor. And mine’s better.”

“I seem to make you smile enough as is,” Nicholas observes, and Static Man chokes on the energy and buzz of his own not-trachea trying to come up with a response.

It’s fruitless. Nicholas is, as is typically the case, correct.

“Also,” Nicholas continues, examining one of the photographs on the coffee table (it’s of Chris when she was younger. Static Man has no clue how Nicholas got it.), “I don’t want your sense of humor either. Dick jokes are barely funny the first time around. Dick jokes stopped being ‘in’ once you grew past the age of thirteen.”

“Dicks are always in. Haha, that’s what she said.”

Nicholas groans like a hurt animal. “Aside from the rabbit’s fur, we’ve got all the materials we need for the ritual. We’ll do it tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like; I know you like to sleep in. I’ll stop by a pet store either tonight or tomorrow morning and then we should be good to go.”

Static Man flashes him the closest approximation of a smile he can manage without an actual mouth. “Rad.”

There’s always something intangible in the air when Nicholas starts to nerd out over magic. Static Man can never really put his finger on it, but it’s a combination of genuine excitement on Nicholas’s end and (sometimes begrudging) respect and a readiness to listen on Static Man’s, and another thing that Static Man couldn’t name if he tried. Nicholas gets this intense look on his face, and he starts talking loudly, passionately, with his hands, and Static Man thinks that for at least a second, the world doesn’t exist beyond the two of them and their conversation. 

And it’s with that fixed intensity that Nicholas says, “You know, this is probably not something I can easily undo.”

Static Man shrugs, nonchalant as anything. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be putting myself in your service like this if it was something I felt like I was gonna back out on.”

“It’s a two-way street, Static Man,” Nicholas says slowly. “I’m obligated to protect you.”

“We got each other’s backs enough as is,” is Static Man’s breezy response. “It’s not as if much is changing. We’re just… y’know, confirming it. In the eyes of, like, The Powers That Motherfuckin’ Be.”

“I just mean that if we _were_ to begin to, in a way, bleed into each other—”

“I’d be cool with that,” Static Man assures him. “Again, as long as I’m not getting your twinky build—”

“My _what_.”

“—I’m fine to get some of your genius brain. Also,” Static Man hurries on, “if we can, like, tap into each other’s power? Like– okay, this is a fuckin’ terrible reference, but have you ever read those unbelievably shitty books by that lady who adapted them from, like, sexually-immoral-and-fucked-up _Harry Potter_ fanfiction she once wrote?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“You know,” Static Man explains as if it should be obvious, “those books with the ginger chick and her, like, brother-but-not-really-it’s-complicated-no-it’s-not-yes-it-is blond hunk, and there was the gay magician dude, and they made a bad movie outta it? Shadow-something?”

“I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about, thankfully,” Nicholas says. “Are you feeling well?”

“No, dude, I’m dead serious, this is a thing, but the batshit bonkers backstory is not the point. The point is that people can like, bond themselves to each other, or something? I don’t know, I’m kinda a crap reader with a crap memory, but basically I think they could pull on each others’ magic once they were bonded?”

“This seems like an unnecessarily complicated way to ask if I’ll be able to do any of your Whisper on the Wind abilities,” Nicholas says.

“I guess it is. So?”

“I don’t think so,” Nicholas tells him. “Again, this is an inexact science, and I could explain it in-depth to you, but—”

“—but I don’t really have, like, the processing capabilities for that sorta thing, and we both know it,” Static Man laughs.

“Not at all what I was going to say.” Nicholas walks up next to Static Man, puts a hand on his not-arm, squeezes it gently. “I just mean that I feel that you’re less interested in this side of magic than the—”

“—the fun side?”

“I mean, to me, this _is_ the fun side, but yes,” Nicholas says. “Also, you have a bit of a habit of finishing my sentences. Did you know that?”

“I’m talkative,” Static Man says, as if it explains his ability to _get_ Nicholas in a way he’s never really _gotten_ any of the other people he’s– well, worked with, been in the service of, tomato tomahto. 

“That you are,” Nicholas agrees. “But, no, I don’t know what some of the side effects, so to speak, of this ritual might be. All I know is I’ve found a way to bind the two of us together, and it will make us stronger as a unit, if not as individuals. It certainly won’t weaken either of us in favor of adding strength to the collective, though, so you needn’t worry about that.”

“Didn’t even know until now that that was something I _mightn’t_ , or whatever the fuck, even _have_ to worry about, so thanks for that, Nicholas, really.”

“I just mean that as much as I’d love to be able to understand and control all of my magic, it’s not something that’s meant to entirely be understood and controlled. You of all people should get that, shouldn’t you? That this– that magic is a bit trickier than you might want it to be?”

“Yeah, yeah,” admits Static Man. “Well, if you’re not gonna go all nerdmode on me, and if you don’t need me to make sure you haven’t broken any poor rabbit’s hymen—”

“Oh my fucking G—”

“—then you can let me go,” Static Man tells him. “It’s not like I got shit to do before our ritual tomorrow.”

“I don’t like turning off the recorder,” Nicholas frowns. “I don’t like acting as if you’re a thing that I summon only when I need you.”

“I mean, it’s kinda like descriptionally what I do, but I appreciate the niceties regardless,” Static Man says. “I’m super fuckin’ used to it, seriously.”

They have this argument a lot. Static Man really, really loves that Nicholas keeps a recorder on for him. He loves it more than pretty much anything. But he never wants to feel like he’s getting to be too much, and also he gets bored pretty damn easy, and also sometimes he’s more trouble than he’s worth. 

Usually, Nicholas doesn’t turn it off. And today’s no different. He says, “Static Man, the whole point of binding us together is to affirm us as equals.”

“Doesn’t it, like, literally give you power over me?”

“It gives me an obligation to treat you as an extension of myself,” Nicholas corrects. “Besides, I would never actually abuse that power. I am– Static Man, you must by now know that I am not my father.”

“Oh, I know,” Static Man assures him. “And I trust you.”

“Good,” Nicholas says, nodding curtly. And then: “I trust you, too.”  
  


-

It’s a boring collection of hours that Static Man spends killing time, and then sleeping, and then killing more time. He orders waffles off of Seamless, but eating them only expends a few minutes, so for the most part he lounges around and tries to sleep some more and attempts to stave off the severe boredom that plagues him whenever he’s alone with nothing to do.

He decides to take another turn about the house. It’s something he’s done about a billion times, obviously, but it’s better than sitting on the couch and waiting.

Nicholas has done a number and then some on his father’s old place. He hasn’t changed the color of the walls, or the layout, or any of the rooms’ purposes (besides converting a spare room into a bedroom for Static Man so that he doesn’t have to crash on the couch), but the decor’s different, as is the– well, the general vibe of the place.

There were bookcases before, which is to be expected, considering Nicholas comes from a proud line of meganerds, but they were cluttered and dreary and mismatched. Now they’re a pretty dark wood, varnished and meticulously organized no matter what wall they line. And the furniture’s been changed, too; Nicholas replaced some of the ratty old couches that had clearly not been used or respected in a hot minute or two with chairs upholstered in rich blues and reds. Some of Michael Waters’ more disturbing table centerpieces have been replaced with flowers, or small succulents, or nothing at all.

It’s not as if Nicholas hides the magic of the place. On the contrary, it’s painted rather blatantly in blood wards upon the doors (which, okay, gross, but they never flake or smell, so it’s whatever) and in the mess of tapes that always manage to find themselves scattered across any surface. There’s magic in Nicholas’s notebooks, in his recorders, in Static Man. Hell, Static Man wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Nicholas has fortified the place with, like, spellbound bricks, or some shit.

But it’s not disturbing. Before, when Static Man first started hanging around, when Nicholas was caught between not-his-father’s-son and holy-shit-this-is-a-ready-made-incubator-for-magic-I-can’t-let-it-go-to-waste, the place fucking sucked. It was dreary and the air felt oppressive. Static Man didn’t trust that there weren’t posthumous booby traps just waiting to, like, suck his soul out of his not-body. If he even still has a soul proper. Which is an interesting moral quandary, but one that might give him a headache if he ponders it for long enough, so he leaves it be. Besides, it’s something that he probably should wait for Nicholas to bring up, because Nicholas would fucking love to debate something like that. 

Yeah. Meganerd. It’s kinda endearing, if Static Man is forced to admit it. There’s a passion for the work he’s doing, a genuine love of and appreciation for the magic that Static Man can see reflected in this sanctum. It wasn’t like this before. It really wasn’t. 

And, okay, yeah, Nicholas has his moments of power-hunger and dangerous obsession, but that’s a risk everyone takes when they decide to dip more than a toe into the pool that is this business. Static Man himself has fucked around in these waters long enough for him to end up drowned. Nicholas, at least, always manages to pull himself back to the surface.

“Jesus fuck,” Static Man murmurs to himself. “I’m being introspective as hell for just a walk around the living room.”

He focuses instead on the photographs that dot the room. That’s another thing Michael Waters didn’t have: pictures of his family and friends. Then again, Michael Waters probably didn’t really have family and friends as a whole, let alone physical proof of their existence. He had allies, and Nicholas has allies too, and he had enemies, and Nicholas has enemies too, but Michael Waters was not human enough to understand the value of friends.

Nicholas is different, obviously. Nicholas has had friends. Continues to have friends. Hell, Static Man’s his friend.

It’s hard to capture Static Man on film, but Nicholas figured out some ritual fuckery to do to a polaroid to make it work in his favor, so there’s a photo of a blurry mess of static and teeth pinned to the side of one of Nicholas’s oft-frequented bookcases. It’s sure as hell not a good pic, and probably not worth the amount of effort Nicholas went through to be able to get it, but it’s a reminder, plain and simple, that Static Man exists, and that Static Man matters. So that’s enough in and of itself.

Aside from that—and a few more Static Man pictures scattered around, because Nicholas doused half a packet of film with his ritual and he was _not_ about to let it go to waste—there are a bunch of other pictures around the house, too. Static Man knows where they all are. Nicholas’s few friends from college are in the kitchen; his fellow teachers from back when he taught are along the wall that guides its way down the stairs; his mother is outside his bedroom, as is Chris.

Static Man has spent quite a while studying those photos, mostly because he’s forgotten what he himself looked like before he was all this, and also because he’s pretty sure he had a sister but he honestly can’t be so sure. It’s been many, many years since stuff like that mattered to him, and it’s easier to just forget about it, because that way he can’t get all bent up about it.

Still, no matter how much he tells himself that the past is unimportant, he finds himself drawn to Nicholas’s family.

His mom looks like him. Not a ton, because Nicholas takes more after his dad both vocationally and appearance-wise, and that’s fine because Nicholas is hot and so was Michael Waters, which sucks on account of he was shitty, but Nicholas’s mom is pretty as hell, so Static Man feels a little less bad about finding Nicholas attractive. He can thank Nicholas’s mom for the good genes even if they’re not really as prevalent in Nicholas’s face.

Anyway, he’s got his mom’s eyes more than anything. The shape of them, the clear blue. Michael Waters had blue eyes as well, but they were like a baby-blue sky cloudy with a real pissy attitude. Nicholas’s mom’s eyes are a clear, dark blue, the color of the ocean halfway between the shore and the depths. Also, she’s dotted with freckles, which is something Nicholas shares, and is something that Chris must have picked up coincidentally, considering her own mother’s skin is without spots based on the few photographs of her Static Man has seen.

The picture of Chris is a pretty great one. Static Man doesn’t know who took it or what it’s from, but in it, Chris is halfway to scaling a wire fence. She’s looking down at the camera with an expression caught halfway between arrogance and glee, her brown eyes sparkling as bright as the stud in her nose under the sunlight. She looks… free. Happy. She looks like she’s chasing the sort of thing she left this world for, and she looks like she’s not going to stop until she’s found it.

There’s the sound of the door opening, and Static Man zips down, a tumbleweed of multi-colored static and white teeth, to greet Nicholas. 

“Hey,” Nicholas says. “I brought brownies. They’re from that shop a few stops away on the train. You know the one?”

“Yeah, the one with the real fuckin’ good brownies that we never go to ‘cuz it’s weirdly outta the way of where we’re usually headed?”

“That’s the one,” Nicholas says, walking further into the house. He sets a bag with the aforementioned brownies down on the coffee table and says, “Leave two of them for me.”

“Two?”

“One for now, one for later,” Nicholas explains.

Static Man has no such prudent reservations. He quickly devours all but two of the brownies in a mess of teeth and moist crumbs.

“These fuckin’ rock. Thank you, Nicholas, seriously, dude.”

“It’s nothing,” Nicholas says, waving his hand. “I felt like we deserved it. Besides, I had time to waste while you were sleeping in.”

“Didn’t sleep that late,” Static Man says.

“What, nerves keep you restless?”

“Uh, no,” Static Man scoffs, lying through his (very many) teeth. 

“Mhm,” Nicholas says noncommittally, clearly not wanting to call Static Man’s bluff but wanting to make him know that Nicholas does, in fact, see said bluff. “Well. We’ll do the ritual in the basement, naturally.”

“Oh yeah. Some magic shit’s gonna go down in the fucked-up brownstone basement. This super totally isn’t the start of a crappy horror movie.”

“You become kind of dickish when you’re anxious,” Nicholas observes, and that shuts Static Man right the hell up. 

“I have everything we’ll need down there,” Nicholas says. “I’m going to go set up. You can join me for the setup; it’s not imperative—ritualistically speaking—that you do, though, so that’s up to you.”

“I’m more than cool on seeing the shit you’re throwing together to make our souls bond,” Static Man says. “So, hell fuckin’ yeah, Nicholas, I’m super coming with.”

Static Man follows Nicholas, his father’s cane clunking against the steps, down to the sublevel of the brownstone that Michael Waters presumably built with a mix of magic and hard work. And, like, maybe some contractors, or something, because no matter how good a wizard you are, Static Man thinks you probably shouldn’t go around messing with the foundation of buildings willy-nilly.

Nicholas mutters to himself as he sets up. It’s mostly nonsensical shit that Static Man can barely parse, some nerdy jargon about _cosmic resonance_ and _optimal calibration_ and whatever the hell else, but the sound of his voice is a comforting one. Besides, Static Man feels mortifyingly delighted to know that sometimes everybody—from static messes of fuckup to powerful sorcerer—needs to hear themself talk and to know they’re not alone.

“Sooo,” Static Man says. “Whatcha doin’?”

“You want me to explain the nitty-gritty of it?” Nicholas asks sincerely. “Because I’d be delighted to explain. It’s rather interesting.”

“I mean,” Static Man hedges, “like, if you gotta? To get to the meat of it?”

“Static Man, this _is_ the meat of it,” Nicholas insists. He places a tuft of the rabbit’s fur atop a tiny pyre made of painted-blue popsicle sticks. “This is _magic_.”

“It looks like a five-year-old’s shitty passion project,” Static Man says.

Nicholas gives him a _seriously, go fuck yourself_ look, and Static Man responds with a toothy, toothy not-grin. “Weren’t you saying yesterday that you didn’t care as much about the technical _how_ as much as the end results?” asks Nicholas.

Static Man shrugs. He buzzes towards Nicholas, circling around his body three times before floating over to one of the many bookcases down here that are filled to the bursting point with a mix of tapes, notebooks, and spell components. Examining a jar of suspiciously viscous liquid, Static Man says, “Yeah. But I’m sorta realizing that I should probably fully know what the hell I’m getting myself into. Good lesson. Coulda learned it sooner.”

“To be fair, if you had learned it sooner, we never would have met,” Nicholas says simply.

Static Man puts down the jar. He’s gripping it so tight that he’s worried he might shatter it, and he does _not_ need goopy white stuff getting in between the tendrils of multicolored-and-black energy that make up his not-body. “Fair.”

“It’s about sounds, mostly,” Nicholas explains. He’s finished with his Michael’s Craft Store fuckery and is now painting some complicated series of symbols around it with a crudely-fashioned paintbrush and a jar of what Static Man knows is one part water, one part salt, one part red food dye (a specific brand; he can’t remember the name, but he’s sure Nicholas would know if he asked) and two parts cold brew coffee.

Static Man knows Nicholas’s whole theory—or, well, it’s not really a theory if it’s most likely probably correct, is it? Static Man doesn’t know. He didn’t do so hot in high school math class the year they did proofs and shit, and he was never really a sciences kinda guy in college, so he doesn’t know the exact definition of the word “theory”—about sounds. It’s some complicated thing about resonant frequencies and Hertz and wavelengths and honestly, half of it sounds dangerously close to the pseudoscientific bullshit Nicholas likes to make fun of, but Static Man would never say that. Besides, the difference between this and, like, a tuning fork that’s supposed to cure cancer with the magic of music and good vibes is that this works and the tuning fork doesn’t.

“So what’re the sounds we’re workin’ with here?” Static Man asks.

“Mostly the sounds you’re going to make,” answers Nicholas.

Static Man coughs abruptly into his not-arm. “And that means…?”

“You remember the question-and-answer-based salt-circle ritual we did a while back, yes?”

Static Man nods, and then realizes that Nicholas is too intently focused on his calligraphy to see him. “Yeah,” Static Man says.

“Something similar to that,” Nicholas answers. “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen right now, because priming you takes away the power of it being your natural response, but this one is less about the sounds themselves and more about… the words, I suppose? The answers? I’ve not yet cracked why certain rituals are more dependant on music and some are more dependent on actual words, but that’s a fascinating niche of study that I’d love to delve into deeper one day, and—”

Static Man clears his throat.

“Right,” Nicholas says sheepishly. “This ritual. Well, this one’s modified from one of my fathers’ rituals, but I changed it to be a bit kinder and more lenient. The crux of it is the words being said; the ritual components, while very important, are, magically speaking, secondary. “

“So you’re saying if the rabbit had wild rabbit sex before you plucked its hair—”

“Static Man,” Nicholas groans. “Again. Not what virgin means. And no, it’s still very much necessary that the ritual components fit their verbatim requirements. I just mean that the power of the ritual itself comes more from what we’re going to say than from the materials we’re using.”

“Want some help up?” Static Man asks.

Nicholas is on one knee to paint on the floor, and now that the jar’s been re-capped, he looks as if he’s about to stand up. And he rarely asks Static Man to help him with tricky things like this—lots of knee movement isn’t fantastic for Nicholas, especially on days when he’s doing rituals, which is something Static Man has noticed but has not said out loud—which is ridiculous. He’s literally magically binding his soul to Static Man’s, making Static Man his cosmically-recognized employee and helper, and he can’t even ask for a hand with his bad leg. Stupid, stubborn Nicholas. 

“Sure,” Nicholas says, as if it’s nothing.

Static Man steadies Nicholas as he rises to his standing. “I’m not gonna ask you how you came up with the ritual, because I think ‘research’ as an answer suffices, because, no offense, dude, while I wanna know what’s happening, I’m fine not hearing about how many sleepless nights you spent over this.”

Nicholas sputters in protest. “Not _that_ many sleepless nights.”

“The thing,” Static Man says sagely, “about letting me exist without stop means that I know everything you do.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Nicholas mutters dryly. He pulls up some ambient noise app—Spooky Magic Music Maker™, or something—on his phone and starts playing what sounds like very light atonal organ chords. It makes Static Man’s teeth ache, just a touch. 

“I just mean that when I’m up at 2am binging _Haikyuu!!_ or something and I take a pause to walk a lap around the house and I see the light on under your door, I’m gonna assume you either need full eyesight capabilities to jack off, or you’re working yourself to the bone over a new magical theorem, or something.”

Nicholas does not dignify that with a response, which, like, fair. Instead, he says, “Pass me the vial of my blood and your tooth, will you?”

Static Man quickly complies. He keeps a not-hand on Nicholas’s back as Nicholas bends over to drizzle his blood around the pyramid of popsicle sticks and rabbit’s fur in a near-perfect circle and to place Static Man’s tooth in the middle of a tuft of offwhite fur. 

“And you’re sure we’re not gonna end up body-swapping, or merging bodies, or like in some way die, or whatever the fuck,” Static Man double-checks. “‘Cuz I read this book recently—it was, like, this badass lesbian necromancer in space, you’d totally hate it, the first book wasn’t depressing enough for you—and this one girl had to die for the other girl so that she could, like, share her soul with her and help her swordfight better and become, like, a god, it was a whole thing, and—”

Nicholas straightens up, grips his cane a little more tightly, and refuses to look Static Man in the eye, and for a second, Static Man’s not-stomach rockets out of his not-feet.

“You… right?” Static Man says, worried. He doesn’t love this body, sure, but it’s the body that he’s got. He doesn’t at all want to give up his bodily freedom just to have a link to Nicholas. And he certainly doesn’t want to in any way die.

Nicholas gives him a sly grin, and if not for the ritual laid out in front of them, Static Man would have pushed him face-first into the ground. “Don’t worry,” Nicholas says. “No physical changes. And no dying.”

“You piece of shit douchenozzle,” Static Man says. “You can _not_ make a man _panic_ like that, Jesus fuck, Nicholas.”

“I’m glad you’re reading,” Nicholas says.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll rub off on you and get you to pick something up that doesn’t end in the main character wanting to fucking kill themself or something.”

“Didn’t you literally just say the one girl kills herself for the other?”

“That’s besides the fucking point,” Static Man says. “Also, ritual? Don’t we have a ritual to do?”

Nicholas nods. “That we do.”

Static Man and Nicholas stand on opposite sides of the pyre of blue sticks, each of them with a different foot on a different painted symbol. Nicholas pulls out a lighter from his pants pocket, a classic-looking silver thing, and places his phone on a nearby shelf, the teeth-rattling dissonant chords still sounding from its speakers.

“Once the ritual begins,” Nicholas says, “you can’t crack jokes—as I said, language and words are very important for this one—and you can’t step off your symbols, no matter what.”

Static Man nods in understanding, uncharacteristically silent. He feels a bit miffed that Nicholas felt he had to specify the joke thing. Sure, Static Man’s funny, and oftentimes without a filter, but he’d never take a matter such as this as anything less than dead serious. He hopes Nicholas knows that. He hopes Nicholas understands how much and how wholly Static Man respects (and even admires) him.

Nicholas’s hand flexes and tightens again around the goat’s head top of his cane. He clears his throat. “Static Man,” he says. “I’m going to have you explain three things. In between those definitions, I’m going to chant a few things. You don’t need to worry about that; that part of the ritual is on me, not on you. And if I ask you to explain a word, don’t use textbook definitions—as reliable as they are, this requires your own understanding of things, not Merriam-Webster’s. Besides, I’m relatively certain you don’t have textbook definitions for words memorized.”

“I’m relatively certain almost no one does,” Static Man says, which feels like a fair point, because even Nicholas isn’t lame enough to do that.

“Fair. Okay,” Nicholas says, and his eyes light up. They’re a lake and the sunrise above it, and Static Man feels a bit taken back by their depths. “Let’s begin.”

Every time Static Man watches Nicholas do a ritual, it’s different. Oftentimes he reads the necessary words off a sheet of paper. Oftentimes he sounds a bit bored, as is typical for him. Oftentimes you wouldn’t know that he absolutely fucking loves every second of this if you didn’t know him well enough to look for this spark in his eye, the anticipation in his trembling fingers. 

That’s usually for the small stuff, though. Other times he’ll get more into it, rock on his feet a bit as if in prayer, or let his voice rise and fall like a song. It’s nice to watch. It’s nice to be part of.

And sometimes he just– well, sometimes he’s entirely overcome.

Even though Static Man knows Nicholas is reciting memorized words, it sounds as if it’s coming straight from the heart when he says, “Birds have wings, and they fly. Birds fly away. To fly you must jump; do the chicks jump at the chance to jump, or do they hesitate? Birds fly away.”

He falls silent, looking at Static Man expectantly, and Static Man is, like, very much out of his element, because this sort of weird-ass abstract thinking is cringey to him when he’s sober, but he supposes it’s his time to explain what Nicholas just said, so he says, “You gotta– you gotta trust that your wings are gonna work, I guess. And you gotta do it at some point—birds fly away, yeah? All of ‘em do—so… I’ll say they jump at the chance to jump.”

Apparently, that’s a good enough answer, because Nicholas nods and smiles. “Offer work and time; commodities. I accept. I accept. If it’s of a feather then it’s going to jump. Birds fly away.”

Nicholas sparks the lighter in his hands, and the room turns green. It’s as if someone overlaid a translucent sheet of pure forest-colored gel, and Nicholas is washed out in emeralds and olives and limes. His eyes stay their same dark blue, though. Clear and strong. The ritual components are all immune to the tint too, it seems, as are the teeth in Static Man’s body, which remain a pearlescent white. 

Nicholas continues, “Define devotion.”

Static Man rubs at the back of his not-neck. “Devotion is… giving yourself away. To somebody. To something. It means blind faith, and it can be bad and unhealthy, but it doesn’t need to be. And if there’s reciprocity, it can be, like, symbiotically bad on both sides, but it can also be good. It can be a crutch to lean on, or love that you give. It’s… shit, it’s a big word.”

The greens become a little sharper, a little more crisp at the edges, and so does Nicholas’s smile. Static Man feels the ball of nerves in his not-stomach begin to unwind.

“There’s a central nest,” Nicholas says, voice almost sing-song in tone, almost reverent, “and it’s made of sticks and wood and devotion. Birds fly away; birds fly back. There’s a central nest, and we cannot sever our connection to it. It bites the bone; it anchors in the blood; it cuts through our feet. There’s a central nest, and we cannot help but give ourselves up to it. Birds fly away, but the nest pulls us back.”

 _Creepy_ , Static Man thinks, making sure not to say it out loud. _This must be the shit that he_ didn’t _change from his father’s original wording_. He does not need to fuck with this ritual. He does not want the fucking nest biting into his bones, or something.

Nicholas flicks the lighter on again, and suddenly, the greens separate into yellows and blues. The greens pull themselves apart, unweaving a tapestry of grass and moss, and thread themselves into the sun and the sky, an entire atmosphere in one Brooklyn brownstone with Nicholas and Static Man in the center.

“Why are you doing this?” is Nicholas’s last question, jarring in its simplicity. 

Static Man knows he has to be honest. He kind of would rather take the aggro nest, but he’s come this far, and he can’t screw it up now. 

Despite his reservations about baring his soul, Static Man’s answer comes easy. He says, “Because I like you. I like working with you. I think I can help you, and I think you can help me. It’s a smart choice, logically speaking, but more than that, it’s something that I want to do. I haven’t had the agency to do things I wanted to do—like, wanted to do just for me, just for myself, not because anyone fucking told me to do it—in… way too long. I’m doing this because– shit, Nicholas, I want to. I want to be bound to you. And I think that’s a damn good reason.”

Nicholas leans over and presses his flame to the pyre. It alights with an unnatural quickness, and then it jumps to the circle of blood, and there’s a wall of flame that blazes for half a second with an intensity that Static Man can feel in every atom of his not-body. He almost takes a step off the symbols that he’s standing on in shock, but he holds his ground. 

And then the fire dies, and the pyre of blue popsicle sticks and rabbit’s fur looks unsinged, as toddler-plaything as ever. Static Man’s tooth is gone, though, and so is the circle of Nicholas’s blood.

The world is no longer blue and yellow. The hues have settled themselves almost nearly back to normal, and colors snap back into their regular place as soon as Nicholas starts with his final piece of the ritual.

He says, “We all belong to the nest. To each other. Birds fly away; they flock.”

And then it’s done. Nicholas doesn’t say it’s done, but Static Man can feel it.

And it hurts like a fucking _bitch_.

It’s like Static Man’s not-guts are being ripped from his not-body. It’s a wrenching pull from the center of his being, a tug outward, a tug so physically powerful that he has to struggle to stay upright. His teeth clatter against each other, a cacophony of bone and enamel, a symphony of body horror. He flashes and sparks, a firework going off before its time.

Through the pain, he can see something happening to Nicholas as well. That wound on his leg (which is a mix of colors that hurt Static Man’s not-eyes to look at every time Nicholas walks around in anything other than long pants, a logic-defying carving-in of flesh that lets Static Man glimpse the beautiful bone underneath) glows from underneath his pants. Nicholas’s eyes are screwed shut, and he looks like he’s hurting, too, and Static Man wants to make it stop, wants to fix it all, and just as he’s about to do something really stupid, like step off the symbols he’s standing on to go rush over to Nicholas and do _something, anything_ —

It stops. The pain’s over, gone as soon as it came, and there’s no aftershocking aches.

Static Man shakes himself up. The awful background music is gone—when did Nicholas turn it off? And Nicholas is standing upright, knuckles white around the head of his cane, smiling.

Static Man feels… Static Man feels…

Static Man feels absolutely the same. He says, “Well, that was fun. So I’m, like, officially your vassal now? You wanna test it out, order me around a bit?”

Nicholas scoffs. “Do you really have that little faith in my abilities? I promise you, Static Man, the ritual worked as it was intended to work. Besides, it is not my intention to use this tie to you to order you around. That is not a precedent I would like to set, and I can start not setting that precedent now.”

“So you’re not gonna test run this thing?” Static Man demands. “You’re not gonna check to see if it worked?”

Nicholas reaches out a hand into the air, reaching for something that Static Man can’t see. He twirls a finger in a circle, then drops his hand to his side. “It worked,” he says. “I can put myself in harm’s way and you can refuse to come to my aid and see how badly that fucks you up, if you’d like.”

“Nah, that sounds highly unpleasant for both of us,” Static Man says. “I’ll just trust you on this.”

“Good,” Nicholas says, nodding. “That’s… yes. Trust is crucial.”

And Static Man would love to press him a bit more on why the everloving fuck he’s speaking in such a cryptic-ass tone, but then he realizes that he’s _really_ hungry, and Static Man barely ever actually gets hungry—perks of a not-body—so he can’t even imagine how Nicholas might be feeling, what with his fragile human body. 

“You wanna get something to eat?” Static Man asks.

“Yes, please,” Nicholas says emphatically. “Late-lunch-slash-early-dinner at that Italian place a few blocks away?”

“Oh, the one that you did some spell fuckery on to make sure they see me as a person? Fuck yeah. I haven’t had a proper sit-down meal in a restaurant in way too long.”

“It’s been about a week,” Nicholas says.

“Yeah? Your point?”

Nicholas rolls his eyes. And he smiles, and he looks so glad to be able to go eat mediocre spaghetti bolognese with Static Man, looks so glad that this ritual worked, looks so glad to be bound to Static Man until, like, death or another ritual or some shit does them part. He says, “Come on, Static Man. Let’s go.”

Static Man feels a little jolt in him at that, a spark in his not-chest that wants him to take another step closer to Nicholas. Must be the ritual already working. _Let’s go_ is an imperative, so maybe the ritual’s taking it as an order, tugging at Static Man, wanting him to follow.

Or maybe—but this is sappy and dumb as hell, and Static Man super wants to repress this idiocy—being with Nicholas, knowing that Nicholas wants to be with him, makes Static Man happy. Makes his not-heart beat a little faster. Maybe it’s that.

Whatever. He’ll refuse to think about it over garlic bread.

Static Man climbs the stairs after Nicholas, waits for Nicholas to grab his wallet, and taps the photograph of himself, a multicolored mess of static, teeth, and emotion in the living room on the way out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what the fuck a ritual is i dont know how the fuck to write them don't ask me what the bird shit was because there is like no meaning behind it i was just saying words. the ritual is not that important it's just a conduit through which i can look at the characters and their dynamics (like how in haikyuu it is NOT about the volleyball. Static man voice it's about the bond between trainer and (or whatever that pokemon quote was)). anyway
> 
> the first book series static man references is the moral instruments (specifically talking abt the concept of parabatai). the reference to it is NOT me endorsing it btw i do not recommend this book series. the second book series he references is the locked tomb trilogy (specifically talking about the concept of [REDACTED FOR MASSIVE SPOILERS]). i think static man would like terrible ya novels made for straight girls (tmi) or good adult/ya novels made for lesbians (tltt). he has eclectic enough taste.
> 
> thank you for reading :] kudos/comments always appreciated, and you can find me on twitter @ kickdshins


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